


Ridiculous Is The Right Word For It

by achildofyavanna (Minionfromthedark)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rated T for Mentions of Nudity, tarzan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minionfromthedark/pseuds/achildofyavanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He exhales slowly and stretches, yearning into the careful touch and answering the unasked question with a hum. “Freckles. They appear on some people's skin after they’ve spent a long time in the sun.”</p><p>Thorin makes a delighted noise, leaning closer, Bilbo knows, because now the long strands of his hair are brushing whisper soft against Bilbo’s ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ridiculous Is The Right Word For It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DwarvishWarriors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvishWarriors/gifts).



> For Tilly, who is a darling and the one who made my writer's block go away. I hope you like it!

He’d just wanted to explore the rainforest for a bit, that’s all. Maybe draw a few of the plants and birds he’ll come across. Maybe it had been stupid not to bring someone else in case he got lost, but eh. The rest of his team is loud, and noisy and they don’t appreciate nature like he does.

So he’s only got himself to blame, really. Running from a group of monkeys hasn't been on his to-do-list, but here he is. His breath is coming short, his curls starting to stick to the skin of his forehead. He’s lost his waistcoat and his pant legs are getting muddier by the second. Doesn’t matter. He only has to get away, but he doesn't know how. 

If he climbed a tree, they’d climb after him, faster than he’ll ever be able to climb and scramble up the bark of a tree. If he kept running, they’d have him in a few minutes. 

The adrenaline is fading. Bilbo’s breaths come quicker and quicker. He stumbles but manages to keep upright and running. They’re getting nearer and nearer, their wild shouting even louder.

Bilbo’s panicking. There's a swishing sound above and behind him, but he doesn’t dare look, not now. 

The monkeys are about to reach him and Bilbo closes his eyes, prepares for the inevitable of claws and teeth sinking into his flesh, his resulting death.

One heartbeat, two, three.

The breath whooshes out of him as he’s lifted around the middle and over a muscled shoulder, the wind rushing by and cooling the sweat on his overheated skin. His body’s hanging down like a ragdoll, and he’s able to breathe easier.

He pats the shifting mass of muscled back underneath his fingertips and gets a grunt from Thorin for his efforts. He wouldn’t be able to stop the silly smile that spreads across his face even if he’d wanted to.

Thorin sets him down on one of the larger branches of a tree that reaches higher in the sky than most. Bilbo dimly wonders if it’s the same one they’ve first met on.

He’s clutching at the shirt above his heart, still breathing heavily, but hears no sound from his friend; he rather feels those blue eyes burning into him, Thorin's attention more obvious than anything else going on around them.

When he finally looks up, Thorin's gaze is already trained on his face, his expression shifting from angry to worried to relieved and back. Bilbo smiles at him and his stance relaxes. He’s braided his short beard and put flowers between the strands of his hair. Bilbo wonders who he’s trying to impress.

Thorin comes nearer and extends a hand to ruffle Bilbo’s curls like he always does, shaking his head and reprimanding, “Bilbo ridiculous.”

Bilbo agrees, and he’s proud Thorin’s learned to pronounce the word right. They’ve been practicing a lot these past few weeks.

His nod makes Thorin smile ruefully, but he does ask, “Hurt?”

Bilbo shakes his head. “No, but I’m dirty. Is there water around?” He makes a washing motion with his hands, but Thorin seems to have understood him just from listening.

“Yes,”, he says, turning around so Bilbo can climb on his back. He winds his arms around Thorin’s neck and his legs around Thorin’s waist and only when the dark haired man’s sure Bilbo has a firm grip on him, Thorin stands up and takes off.

He knows the forest like the back of his hand and Bilbo trusts him not to lead them astray, though he does clutch harder at him when he’s jumping straight down their branch to the ground, grabbing ahold of a vine when they’re about to hit the forest floor to swing into the opposite direction from where they’ve come.

Not that Bilbo notices. He’s buried his face between Thorin's shoulder blades to seek shelter from the wind rushing past, still remembering the one time he didn't and had to contend with dry eyes for the rest of the day. He isn’t too keen on repeating that. 

After some minutes, Thorin lets go of one of the many vines he likes to swing from and lands with a thud. Bilbo slowly raises his head and relaxes his limbs one by one until he can slide off Thorin's back. 

He looks around curiously, stepping out from behind Thorin and more onto the clearing with the small bubbling spring.

To Bilbo it feels like a sanctuary, the way there’s only the sound of their combined breathing is heard. The chirping of the birds and the rustling of the trees are muffled, sounding as if from far away. He relishes the quietness of this place and makes sure to ask Thorin to take them here more often.

The rustle and then thud of cloth hitting the ground disturbs the moment. Bilbo stiffens and doesn't dare look any lower than Thorin's back as he strides past him and into the water, unconcerned with his show of nudity. 

Bilbo swallows dryly and watches him wade to the deepest part, where the water laps at just above his hips and only then follows to the water’s edge himself. 

He kneels down and concentrates on getting the dirt unstuck from under his nails, then wets his handkerchief and wipes across his face. Next he takes off his shoes and socks, then rolls up his trouser legs and dips his toes into the water. Ah, that feels much better. 

Submerging the whole of his feet and his calves into the water, he leans back and closes his eyes, sighing as he feels rays of sun tickling his nose.

He doesn't know for how long he’s dozing off, but when he stirs, there’s a presence at his side and fingertips tracing over the bridge of his nose, feather light.

He exhales slowly and stretches, yearning into the careful touch and answering the unasked question with a hum. “Freckles. They appear on some people's skin after they’ve spent a long time in the sun.”

Thorin makes a delighted noise, leaning closer, Bilbo knows, because now the long strands of his hair are brushing whisper soft against Bilbo’s ear.

He rolls onto his side and yawns, blinking his eyes open to see that Thorin's dry and wearing his loin cloth again. He’s remembered not to come too close to Bilbo without it, after the incidence in the early stages of their acquaintance and Bilbo's refused to see him for three days straight. Now, Bilbo wouldn't mind too much. In fact, he wouldn't mind at all.

Thorin's propped himself up on one arm and is still leaning over him, but now seems content to simply gaze into Bilbo’s eyes.

Slowly Bilbo reaches out to tug on his braided beard and murmur, “What did you do this for?”

His friend looks at him with a raised eyebrow and a slant of his thin mouth, like he can't believe that Bilbo is stupid enough to ask. Carefully he pushes his forefinger against Bilbo's forehead, silently asking him to think.

Bilbo doesn't want to. He’d rather lay there and keep looking at his fascinating friend, watching his expressions shift and his hair sway in the breeze.

“For me, maybe?”, Bilbo suggests around another yawn and slow blink of his eyes.

Thorin smiles fondly, brushing away a stray curl from Bilbo’s forehead. “Sleep,”, is his own suggestion, phrased more like a question and an order all rolled into one.

Bilbo nods and curls closer, closing his eyes again when Thorin cradles his head in one large hand and lays it against his chest.

The last thing he feels are lips pressing into his hair and the rumble in Thorin's chest as he starts humming a lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, it feels so good to finally post something again. Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it!


End file.
